


Lost In The Marinara Sauce

by garbageOwO



Category: A.C.E (Beat Interactive Band)
Genre: (courtesy of kang yuchan), :D, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Drunken Flirting, It’s Not A K-Pop Party Fic Without Jackson Wang, M/M, No Smut, accidental house party, and also jackson wang because, and then your best friend shows up with over seventy people, bk gets Wasted, is this a soulmates au?, man don’t you hate it when you’re trying to study astrophysics, normal friday night things: asking your local pizza man to bark for you, rated m for dick jokes, sehyoon’s just trying to deliver a pizza, sure whatever I'll tag it, there's a bit of dongjun btw, well... Drunken ATTEMPTS at flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:34:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26375041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/garbageOwO/pseuds/garbageOwO
Summary: “Goodbyes are so awkward,” Byeongkwan sighs, doing his best to keep himself upright. “Like, do I go in for a kiss or a hug or what?”The delivery guy gives him a strained, tight-lipped smile. “Sir, please take your food.”(A wildly incorrect assumption leads to a quiet study session turning into an impromptu house party. Junhee’s priceless family heirlooms are promptly thrown out the window, as are Byeongkwan’s dreams of meeting his soulmate while sober.)
Relationships: Kim Byeongkwan/Kim Sehyoon | Wow
Comments: 11
Kudos: 110





	Lost In The Marinara Sauce

**Author's Note:**

> so I was supposed to write this in time for junhee's birthday. but that didn't happen.
> 
> ...obviously.
> 
> haha enjoy this mess (it's based on a prompt from [@correctace](https://twitter.com/correctace) on twt)
> 
> whyyy is it over 10k xkdjfhkjxd I wanna write a normal-length oneshot for once hhhhhH
> 
> also also
> 
> TW // ALCOHOL
> 
> just wanna put that there *thumbs up*

“Where’s Junhee?” Donghun asks. “God, you’d think he’d show up a little earlier for a study session _he_ organized.”

Byeongkwan shrugs and takes another Dorito from the bowl on the table. “Don’t ask me. My guess is that he’s getting more strawberry milk from the grocery. I swear, he’s addicted to the stuff. Have you tried telling him to cut down a little? It can't be that healthy, and besides, it's expensive.”

“It’s not my problem if he blows his monthly budget on gross fruity milk. I mean, it’s nearly impossible for him to blow his budget in the first place,” Donghun says, gesturing to Junhee’s living room—namely, the huge flat screen TV, the priceless art hanging on the walls, and the one-of-a-kind porcelain trinkets sitting on the shelves. “If we ever get married, I hope he doesn’t make me sign a prenup.”

“Gold digger.” (He’s not entirely wrong, but ‘digger’ implies effort, which Donghun doesn't need in order to con— _ahem,_ politely ask Junhee for money.)

“From next week onwards, I’ll get to live in this gorgeous house, and he’ll get to wake up to my gorgeous face every day. I’d say that’s a pretty fair exchange.”

“Are you sure about that? Come on, just admit it. You have a sugar daddy.”

“Whatever,” Donghun mutters, rolling his eyes. “He’s more of a sugar twink than anything. Should I tell him to get more chips?”

“Why? We already have—hey, where’d all the chips go?”

Donghun shakes his head. “You ate them all.” He takes out his phone and calls Junhee. “Hey, Jun. Where are you? ...Looks like Byeongkwan was right. Anyways, can you get more chips? ...No, I don’t have a preference, but please don’t buy some weirdass flavor. Unlike you, I actually have taste buds… Uh, probably not, but I’ll ask. Do you want anything, Kwan?”

“Ask him if he can get me a stupid but hot boyfriend with a garden of cacti and almost half a million dollars.”

Donghun elbows him in the gut. “No, he doesn’t want anything… Yeah, I think that’s it. Hold on, can you get us a six-pack? If we’re gonna study for this dumb exam for three hours, then we deserve a reward. I’ll see you in thirty… No… No, I’m not saying it. Byeongkwan’s right here… Please, it’s embarrassing… Argh, fine. I love you too, Jun.” Donghun hangs up and glowers at Byeongkwan when he starts snickering.

“Are you sure you two aren’t married yet?”

“You’re just jealous,” Donghun says, pouting. “If you had a boyfriend, you’d be twice as sappy. I can see it now. You’d cling to him like a koala and tell him his eyes are like deep voids or some shit like that and ramble about him for hours on end and wake him up at the ass-crack of dawn to go for a jog and watch the sunrise together. I kinda feel bad for whoever it turns out to be.”

“You’ll have to wait to see if I end up doing everything you said, because I haven’t met my future boyfriend yet,” Byeongkwan says, getting up to pillage the pantry. He pushes the packets of powdered protein drink mix and bags of knockoff Cheetos aside and goes straight for the Girl Scout cookies.

Donghun raises an eyebrow. “How do you know?”

Byeongkwan takes a box of Thin Mints from the top shelf and opens it. “When I meet him, I’ll know.”

“What, like... you’ll pop a boner, or something?”

Byeongkwan throws a Thin Mint at his face.

 _“Ow.”_ Donghun winces and rubs his forehead. “I was kidding. Mostly. So you believe in soulmates, huh? You think there’s someone out there who you’ll immediately click with?”

“Maybe not _immediately,_ but yeah, you could say that.”

“Have you thought about how you guys are gonna meet?” Donghun asks.

“Look, if you’re gonna keep on making fun of me, I’m not—”

“No, I’m curious,” Donghun says, taking a few Thin Mints for himself. “When I met Junhee, I didn’t think we were soulmates, per se, but I definitely felt like he would be important to me somehow. And I always had this weird feeling about that café—like, I don’t know, the same feeling you get when you’re in the doctor’s office and you’re waiting for the receptionist to read your name off the list. I know it’s got a name… An…? Anticipation. That’s what I felt. So, is there anywhere you feel anticipation?”

“Not really. I just like thinking about where we’ll meet. I want it to be somewhere nice—the library, maybe, or the dance studio. Or a park. That would be cool. He would ask to borrow my pen or ask me to take a picture of him. Then we would start talking and get to know each other a bit, and eventually we would exchange numbers. Now that I’m saying it out loud, it sounds a little boring, but that’s what I want. Nothing loud or crowded or life-changing. Just the two of us, going about our lives, and slowly getting more involved with each other. It seems weird given”—he vaguely gestures to himself—“all of me, but quietness is good sometimes.”

Donghun nods. “I get that. Hey, should we start without Jun? He won’t be here for a while. Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to keep talking about soulmates, but I’d rather get some work done.”

“Alright. Let’s start at chapter five. I think it’s the easiest out of the”—Byeongkwan checks the table of contents—“twenty-three chapters we have to go over tonight.”

“I swear, Hyeim wants us dead,” Donghun says. “There’s no way we’ll get through all of this before midnight.”

“We have tomorrow and Sunday to finish up whatever we don’t finish tonight. And the next weekend, too. We’ll be fine,” Byeongkwan reassures.

“Next weekend? What do you mean, next weekend?”

“The final exam is next Monday, right?”

“Kwan.” Donghun puts his head in his hands. “Byeongkwan, the final exam is _this_ Monday.”

“No, I could’ve sworn it’s next Monday,” Byeongkwan says, leafing through his planner. “I know it’s—well, shit. It’s this Monday. We better start now. Okay, flashcards, check. Highlighters, check. Sticky notes, check. Girl Scout cookies, check. Let’s begin.”

They flip their textbooks open and blankly stare at the first page of chapter five. The diagrams of astral phenomena blend with their captions and bleed into the surrounding blocks of text until the entire page is no less decipherable than an ink blot. Byeongkwan tries to focus on a single paragraph, a single sentence, a single word, but every definition and explanation slips out of his mental grasp.

Five minutes of awkward silence later, he clears his throat. “Um, do you get any of this?”

“I have no memory whatsoever of Hyeim discussing a single sentence of this chapter.”

“We reviewed this last week, I’m pretty sure. Hold on, I don’t remember you being in class last Wednesday. Where were you?”

Donghun looks away. “I had other business to attend to.”

“Now that I think about it, I don’t think Junhee was there, either. Don’t tell me you two—”

“We did.”

Byeongkwan presses his lips in a tight line. “You guys are nasty.”

“At least it wasn’t in public.”

“Am I supposed to give you a gold medal for that?”

“No, but if you want to, go ahead. Let’s focus on studying. You were there; do you have any notes?”

“I do, but I’m having trouble reading them,” Byeongkwan says, pointing at the messy scribbles in the margin of the page.

“Those look less like notes about astrophysics and more like ancient runes meant to dredge up eldritch beings born millennia ago.”

“Whatever you say, Lovecraft. I’d rather have messy notes than no notes at all. Hm, I think Chan understood it a lot better than I did. When he gets here, I’ll ask him to explain whatever the hell this mess is.”

Donghun’s eyes widen. “You invited _Chan?”_

“Why wouldn’t I invite him? I’ve snuck a few peeks at his notes before—he couldn’t make them neater if he tried. They’re color-coded and everything. Best of all, they’re legible.”

“We’re having alcohol, Kwan.”

“So? It’s not like _you_ waited until your twenty-first birthday to start drinking.”

“That’s not the point. Have you forgotten how much of a lightweight he is? One sip and he’s _gone.”_

“We just have to keep our drinks away from him until he explains the stuff we don’t understand.”

“Fine, but if he ends up getting blackout drunk, that’s on you. I’m not gonna be the one dragging his wasted ass back to his apartment this time around.”

“He won’t get wasted.”

 _“Mhm_.”

Suddenly, the motion sensor alarm on Junhee’s porch starts going crazy.

_Ringringringringringringring—_

“I think Chan’s here,” Byeongkwan says.

Donghun puts his hands over his ears. “What the—either that thing’s broken, or he’s running around in circles.”

“You think he’s already got some stuff in his system?”

“If he drove himself here, then he’d better not.” Donghun puts his textbook on the coffee table, gets up off the couch, and rushes towards the front door. He removes one hand from his ear and tries to cover it with his shoulder as he shuts off the alarm, unlocks the door and opens it. “Chan, what are you— _what the fuck._ ”

Byeongkwan looks up and his eyes widen as Yuchan and dozens upon dozens of other people start piling into the house.

“Hey, how long do we have until Jun gets here?” Yuchan asks, setting a poorly-frosted sheet cake on a nearby table.

_“Yuchan, why the fuck are—”_

“Hold that thought. I have balloons in my car, I’ll go get—”

Donghun grabs his arm when he turns to leave. “Not so fucking fast. Why the hell did you bring half the university? There are like, what? Six people here who are in our astrophysics class? This is supposed to be a study session.”

“Yeah, a ‘study session,’” Yuchan says, holding up air quotes. “Jackson helped me plan everything. We invited most of the people in Junhee’s classes and convinced them to bring drinks and snacks, I baked a cake and blew up some balloons, and he hired a DJ. I don’t know, should we have done more?”

Byeongkwan takes a deep breath and heads towards the two of them. “Chan, do you know what a study session is?”

“Why do you keep on calling it that?” Yuchan asks. “I mean, he’s not even here yet. You didn’t answer my question, by the way. When exactly will he get here? Because Jackson and I need to help the DJ set up.”

“We’re calling it a study session because it’s a _goddamn study session_ ,” Donghun says, trying to keep himself from losing his shit as students start opening beer cans.

“I know, it’s a—” A lightbulb turns on above Yuchan’s head. “Oh, you mean like... an actual study session. With notes and stuff. Oh. Whoops.”

Donghun glares at him. _“What else would it be?”_

“I thought it was a code word for ‘surprise party,’” Yuchan answers sheepishly. “Since it’s Junhee’s birthday today. That’s the code word we used for Kwangsuk’s surprise birthday party back in February, anyways.”

“Chan, Junhee’s birthday is next week,” Byeongkwan says.

“Oh.”

“We have twenty minutes to get all these people out of the house.” Donghun begins to pace. “ _Twenty minutes._ How many people did you invite?”

“Around seventy, I think, give or take a few. Come on, I can’t kick them out. They’re expecting a party, and I don’t think the DJ does refunds, either. Can we kick back and have a little fun tonight? Please? I promise that I’ll clean up Junhee’s place tomorrow morning.”

“I can’t let you trash his—”

“Pleeease?” Yuchan whines, giving him his best puppy eyes. “Pretty please? I’ll pay for anything that gets broken, too.”

Donghun sighs. “Fine. I guess we’ll study tomorrow, then. But if people start burning shit or whatever, everyone’s out, got it? I’ll call Jun so that he doesn’t have a heart attack when he walks through the door.” He takes his phone out of his pocket and taps on Junhee’s number. “Pick up, pick up… Argh, he won’t respond. Kwan, you try.”

Byeongkwan checks his phone and mutters something under his breath. “I’m blocked, apparently.” He shows them his screen.

“What did you do?” Yuchan asks.

“Who knows? He blocks me every other week.”

“I guess he’ll find out when he gets here,” Donghun says, running his hand through his hair and shaking his head as people pull chairs away and try to create a makeshift dance floor out of Junhee’s kitchen. “Someone hand me a bottle. I don’t care what’s in it, as long as it does the job. I’m not in the mood to remember tonight.”

Byeongkwan grabs two unopened bottles off a table, gives one to him, and keeps the other for himself. “You know what they say.”

“Think before you drink?’” Yuchan guesses.

“Nope. ‘There’s no party—’”

“‘—like a Jackson Wang party,’” Donghun finishes, uncorking his drink with a bottle opener before handing the tool to Byeongkwan. “A-fucking- _men_ to that. Alrighty, let’s start this properly. Attention!”

To his frustration, nobody pauses to listen to him.

“Hold on, I got this.” Yuchan gets up onto a table. “ _Hey! Everyone! Shut up for a few seconds!_ My friend wants to say something!” he yells.

The loud conversations soon die down to quiet murmuring.

Donghun takes a swig and clears his throat. “That shit’s _strong._ Whew. Okay, folks, I’d like to make a toast. This has been one hell of a school year, and after we get through finals week, it’ll be over.” He holds up his bottle. “To finals!”

“To finals!” the crowd shouts back.

“To getting absolutely hammered! To hopefully not failing our classes! Hey, Kwan, do you want to add anything?”

Byeongkwan takes a small sip and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his cheeks already turning pink. “ _Fuck_ finals.”

“Fuck finals!” Donghun and Yuchan shout in unison.

Donghun helps Yuchan get off the table and the two of them wander towards the living room to help the DJ set up.

Which leaves Byeongkwan.

With a bottle of hard liquor.

Now, Byeongkwan is hardly a lightweight. When you’re friends with Kang Yuchan, it’s pretty much impossible to call yourself a lightweight. Yuchan holds his liquor about as well as his parents held him as a baby—which is to say, he drops it so clumsily that he might as well be chucking it at the ground. However—and this is important—Byeongkwan shouldn’t be trusted with an entire bottle of alcohol, never mind an entire bottle of _hard fucking liquor._ You’d think his swole-ness would help him maintain his sobriety at least somewhat, but his glorious, incredible, oh-so-delicious thicccccccccc (yes, the ten Cs are necessary) thighs are full of love, not the ability to keep him from getting completely wasted and therefore awful at making decisions. Correction: even more awful at making decisions than usual, if that’s even possible. He’s dummy thicccccccccc, and his dummy thicccccccccc-ness also applies to his head. (The head being referenced is open to interpretation.)

There are many things in life that absolutely should not be combined under any circumstances—pineapple and pizza, mint and ice cream, blowjobs and butter, eating ass and wasabi, and choking kinks and asthmatics, to name a few examples. (Donghun and Junhee are no strangers to making regrettable choices regarding their sex lives.) Byeongkwan and seven hundred fifty milliliters of Ketel One are one of those things.

They’ve only been combined once before, and that combination resulted in him coming up with the idea to put something terrible in his mouth—something more terrible than a dick slathered in both strawberry-flavored lube and butter. However, that terrible thing is not important (for now).

“Cheers,” he mutters to himself. He takes a long, long sip, the second of many that night, and shuffles over to the kitchen. He’s been suffering through Ms. Lia Kim’s dance class for three whole years; there’s no way he’s letting all those hours of jumping and popping (and jopping) go to waste. He strains his ears to find the beat of the music blasting from the DJ’s speakers, but the senseless chatter around him drowns it out. It’s impossible to tell if the thudding he feels inside of and around him is his growing headache, his heartbeat, the song’s bassline, or the group of people rhythmically hitting the dining table as a sort of drunken drumroll while a guy from his astrophysics class winds up to bounce a ping pong ball into a cup of cheap beer.

Byeongkwan makes his way over to the DJ, the thudding growing louder and louder until that pulsing _boom boom boom_ is all he can hear. “Hey! Turn it up! I can’t hear the music!” He squints at the name on his shirt. “Hey, you! Mad Fresh! Volume!”

The people by the dining table roar with triumph when the astrophysics guy wins yet another round of beer pong.

Mad Fresh wrinkles his nose at the beer pong players and tilts his head. “What?”

Byeongkwan moves his hand parallel to the floor and raises it above his head. “Volume!”

Mad Fresh gives him two thumbs up and turns a dial on his station.

“Thanks, dude, I—fuck, watch it,” Byeongkwan curses as someone bumps into him. He turns around and sees Yuchan trying to dance. Or rather, he assumes he’s trying to dance. When the beat drops, he accidentally hits a pair of girls instead of the woah.

Yuchan mumbles an apology as the girls glare at him and walk away. “Hi! What’sshh… What’s your name?” he slurs, pointing at Byeongkwan. “I think I’ve seen you… you… I’ve seen you hanging around my friend before. Kwannie! Do you know Kw—” He interrupts himself by hiccuping. “Kwannie?”

“You need to take a seat,” Byeongkwan says. He puts his drink down and leads Yuchan to a couch.

Yuchan pouts. “Wh… Why? I wanna dance. Can’t I partyyyyy?”

Byeongkwan holds his arms to his side when he starts wiggling them around. “Do you know what your name is?”

“Don’t be”—he hiccups again—“rrri… ridiculous, Mr. Stranger. My name is… Crap. My name, what’s my name… I know it starts with a Y.”

“You don’t know your own name.”

 _“Shhh_. I’m trying to think,” Yuchan frowns. “Y. What names… What names start with Y? Y… Y… Y-att. Yuengling. Yoshi. Hmm, it’s not any of those… Oh, I know!”

Byeongkwan lets out a sigh of relief. “Good, you had me worried for a s—”

“Yakov Smirnoff!” Yuchan beams. “My name is Yak”—another hiccup—“Yakov Smirnoff!”

“I’m… I’m gonna get you some water. Stay right there, and keep your hands off the booze.”

“You can’t tell me what to do.” Yuchan moves to get off the couch. “You can’t… You chant… Hey, I think that’s my name! Yu… Yuchant!”

“You know what? That’s close enough. I’ll take it,” Byeongkwan sighs, heading towards the cooler by the front door. As he gets on his knees to dig through the ice, he hears someone knocking.

“Donghun? Byeongkwan? What kind of music are you playing in there? And why is it so loud? We’re supposed to be studying,” Junhee says, his voice muffled. “Hey, can one of you let me in? My hands are full.”

Byeongkwan slowly gets up, opens the door, and pushes Junhee back when he tries to get inside.

“Kwan, why—”

He shuts the door and takes Junhee’s grocery bags from him. “Please don’t kill us.”

“What’s going on in there? Have you been drinking?” Junhee asks, trying to move past him. “And what’s with all the cars?”

Byeongkwan flattens his back against the door and pushes his hand away from the doorknob. “We… Umm… We’re rescheduling today’s study session.”

“What? Why?”

“Chan made a mistake and he brought over a bunch of people and now… Well, now we’re having a party,” Byeongkwan explains. 

_“A party.”_

“Don’t get mad at me! Chan’s the one who started everything!”

“Yuchan organized a party. _Tonight._ The Friday before finals week. At _my house_. Without my permission.”

“Jackson helped. I think he deserves a little credit.”

Junhee’s eyes widen. “Jackson. You don’t mean—Jackson is throwing a party at my house. _Jackson Wang_ is throwing a party at _my house_.” He sits down and curls into the fetal position.

“Um, Jun—”

“My parents are going to disown me,” he murmurs. “I can’t let them step foot into my house ever again. If I still have a house by tomorrow morning, that is. They’re gonna wreck the place, and then I’m gonna fail finals, and then I can’t graduate, and then I can’t be an astrophysicist, and then—”

“Calm down,” Byeongkwan says. “Your house will be fine. Everything… Everything will be fine. You won’t fail, you’ll graduate, and then you’ll become the best astrophysicist the world has ever seen.”

“But—”

“Jun, look at me. You’ll be fine.”

“ _You_ can barely even look at _me_ right now,” Junhee says, two seconds away from bursting into tears. “What exactly have you been drinking?”

“Ketel One.”

_“Vodka?”_

“No, it’s a new Capri Sun flavor,” Byeongkwan deadpans.

“There’s a Jackson Wang party at my house and the one person I thought I could trust is drunk on _vodka_.”

“Well, when you put it like that…”

Junhee puts his head in his hands before looking up at the sky and making a strangled noise. He sits in silence for a minute, save for a whimper or two when it sounds like someone is breaking something inside—“something” undoubtedly being the irreplaceable generations-old clay vase in the main hallway. “You know what? Fuck it. I don’t care. If you guys are gonna destroy my house, if you guys are gonna put off our study session, if you guys are going to _ruin my life_ —I might as well join in.”

“What?”

“Fuck my degree. I’m gonna have some fun.” Junhee pushes himself off the ground and Byeongkwan out of the way and opens the door. He reaches inside the cooler and pulls out a bottle, not bothering to check the label before he starts chugging its contents.

“Uhh… Okay then,” Byeongkwan says, following him inside and putting the groceries down.

Junhee coughs into the crook of his elbow and takes another swig.

“I don’t think you should be—”

“I’m gonna have some fun.”

“ _Junhee_ ,” Byeongkwan says, his voice laced with concern. “That’s a lot—”

“ _I_ _said_ I’m gonna have some fun. So let me have some fun. Where’s Donghun?”

“I think I saw him go upstairs. He’s probably in—”

Junhee hurries towards the bathroom, comes out with a bottle of lube, and scurries upstairs before Byeongkwan can finish talking.

Byeongkwan shakes his head and fishes a bottle of water out of the cooler. He nudges past the other partygoers and nearly tosses it to Yuchan before noticing he’s unconscious. It looks like he won’t have to worry about him for the rest of the night, and Junhee won’t mind it if he stays there until the next morning. Presumably. As Byeongkwan puts the bottle down next to his vodka, he comes to a realization.

Yuchan is incapacitated.

Donghun and Junhee are upstairs, doing something (probably each other) that hopefully doesn’t involve things that should never go near sensitive areas.

None of Byeongkwan’s friends can stop him. He can do whatever and whoever he wants.

_(Oh no.)_

He takes another long sip of vodka—the bottle is half-empty, now—and shuffles over to the dance floor.

And he dances.

Well, he doesn’t quite _dance._ The way in which he’s moving is far too obscene to be considered dancing. The way he rolls his hips, smoother than a tub of Land O’Lakes; the way he runs his hands over his toned body, tracing every curve and edge through the thin fabric of his shirt; the way he takes small, quick steps, as if the wooden floorboards beneath him are searing coals—all of it is obscene.

The way he moves makes him remarkably reminiscent of a chicken wing—spicy, boneless, succulent, and delectable. But Byeongkwan isn’t your average baby Jesus honey barbecue wing (tender and mild). Oh, heavens no. He’s the world’s hottest, most seasoned piece of meat, Gordon-Ramsay-approved, drenched in Buffalo Wild Wings’ Blazin’® sauce, and served without ranch or blue cheese dressing in order to prevent the consumer from keeping their taste buds functional. He’s as finger lickin’ good as KFC.

He isn’t just a chicken wing, though; he’s also dessert. Byeongkwan has more cake than a spoiled toddler on their birthday. And it isn’t store-bought. It isn’t like the poorly-frosted homemade sheet cake sitting on the table, _Happy Birthday_ shakily piped on it in pink icing. Byeongkwan’s cake is _gourmet_ —luscious and rich and sweet enough to have been baked by Buddy Valastro himself. It makes the most luxuriant of asses look like mere crumbs in comparison (with a few exceptions, of course—Donghun’s, to be specific).

To put it simply, Kim Byeongkwan is mouthwateringly delicious.

And the people around him are _ravenous._

In between songs, he takes breaks to catch his breath and intoxicate himself even more. After one such break, someone—he can’t tell if they’re a guy or a girl or something else, and quite frankly, he doesn’t care—leads him off the dance floor and backs him up against a wall.

“I… I wanna kiss… y-you,” they slur, placing their hands on the wall on either side of his head.

Byeongkwan tries to discern their facial features in the dim lighting. Does he know this person? Has he talked to them before? Has he even _seen_ them before? Oh well. If they’re a good kisser, then it doesn’t matter. He nods.

However, they are not. They are decidedly not a good kisser. They bite his neck and collarbone in all the wrong places and their tongue feels slimy against his skin and even more gross in his mouth. The only not-terrible part about the whole ordeal is the taste of the other person’s alcohol, fresh and fruity and full-bodied.

“I’m gonna… gonna get you a drink,” the person murmurs after two rather unpleasant minutes of sucking face. They head towards the cooler and Byeongkwan takes the opportunity to slip away and lock himself inside the laundry room.

He leans against the door and slowly slides down to the ground, closing his eyes and absentmindedly skimming his fingertips across the tattoo on his forearm. It doesn’t seem like that bad of a place to take a nap. Sure, the carpet is itchy, and the entire room smells vaguely of detergent, but it’s much less noisy than it is outside. The softened shouting and screaming makes him feel like he’s underwater, being dragged across the ocean floor by an undercurrent. Every beat feels like he’s bumping into a rock or a piece of coral in his path. Maybe he should let himself drift off…

Suddenly, his stomach growls, and only then does he become aware of the hunger gnawing at his stomach. He would go out to get something from Junhee’s kitchen, but that would mean leaving his place of refuge. Instead, he takes out his phone and looks for the number of that old pizza place he’s been meaning to try out. If he remembers correctly, they’re open until eleven o’clock.

Byeongkwan rests his head against the door as he waits for them to pick up.

“Hello, this is Hyungyu’s,” a guy says. “What would you like?”

Byeongkwan sighs into the receiver upon hearing his low, gentle voice. “So, my friends and I were supposed to be studying tonight,” he begins, “but my friend Chan made a mistake, and now we’re having a huge party instead. Chan passed out on the couch and Dongdong and Jun aren’t with me and I… I’m so _alone_. I had the worst kiss ever and I don’t want to dance anymore and _God,_ I just wanna eat something and forget this night ever happened. Do you ever feel that way? Like you wanna forget everything?”

“Sir, I—”

“I wish I had someone the way Dongdong and Jun do. Someone who would make me want to remember everything. Someone who would dance with me and twirl me and kiss me properly. Someone… Someone like a soulmate.”

For a few seconds, all he can hear is the guy breathing on the other end. 

The guy clears his throat. “Excuse me, sir, but I’m not… Sir, this is a pizzeria.”

“I know. That’s why I called.”

“I’m not exactly equipped to deal with… with things like that. My friend has a good therapist, and I can give you her card, but for now, I need you to place your order.”

Byeongkwan deflates. “Oh. Okay then. Um… I’d like a small pizza, please. No toppings.”

“That’s eleven dollars. What’s your address?”

“3 Bass Avenue. Same town. It’s the only house for a few miles; you can’t miss it.”

“Do you want to order anything else, or are there any special delivery instructions, or…?”

Byeongkwan thinks for a second. “Hmm… Can you send your cutest delivery guy?”

The guy chokes. _“What?_ You want me to send… Um. I think I know who to send. Before you go, I’ll need a name.”

“Byeongkwan. My name is Byeongkwan.”

“Got it. Your pizza should arrive in around thirty minutes, Byeongkwan. Thank you, and goodbye.”

“Wait!”

“Hm?”

Byeongkwan draws his knees to his chest. “What’s your name?”

“Oh. I’m… I’m Sehyoon.”

“Goodbye, Sehyoon.” Byeongkwan hangs up and waits for the delivery guy to get there. As the minutes pass by, he starts counting the number of frolicking wolves on the peeling wallpaper.

Forty-two, forty-three, forty-four…

Five minutes.

Ninety, ninety-one, ninety-two… 

Ten minutes.

One hundred ninety-nine, two hundred, two hundred one…

Twenty minutes.

Three hundred sixteen, three hundred… three hundred… three hundred? Shit, he lost his place. Just as he prepares to start over, he hears something—amongst all the racket outside is a lone, high-pitched _ring_ , accompanied by the loud chiming of the doorbell. 

Byeongkwan leaps up, exits the laundry room, makes his way to the front of the house, and opens the door.

The delivery guy screws his eyes shut and tightens his grip on the pizza box as soon as he hears the eardrum-obliterating music inside. It takes a few seconds for him to adjust to the volume and open his eyes, lowering his head ever so slightly to look at Byeongkwan.

Well.

_Well._

It looks like Sehyoon made a good choice.

The delivery guy is nothing short of absolutely stunning. His dark bangs fall in his face and his even darker eyes shine under the porch lights as he looks down at him, slowly licking his chapped lips. Byeongkwan can’t help but be reminded of the wolves he was counting a minute earlier.

But it’s not just his appearance. Something about him is so incredibly inviting and warm and soft and flat-out _nice_. Byeongkwan wouldn’t mind waking up to his face every day or dancing with him or letting him back him up against a wall and kiss him or adopting a cat with him or even just _being_ with him, really. And it’s more than that—it’s more than him not minding. He wants that. He wants to do all of those things.

This is far from a library or a park or his dance studio. This is far from the quiet, pleasant encounter he’s been dreaming about, but it’s an encounter, nonetheless. _The_ encounter.

“Excuse me, sir, but are you—”

“You’re the one.”

“Pardon?”

“You’re the one,” Byeongkwan repeats. “You’re my soulmate.”

The delivery guy stifles a laugh. “That’s quite a sense of humor you’ve got there. Anyways, are you Byeongkwan?”

“Yes, I’m Byeongkwan. And you’re my soulmate.” He reaches out to touch the delivery guy’s face and he immediately steps back.

“You’re drunk,” the delivery guy says flatly.

“I don’t see how that’s relevant. Come on, don’t you feel anything? Don’t you feel something special between us?” Byeongkwan takes one of the delivery guy’s hands and holds it to his chest.

The delivery guy yanks his hand away. “Don’t get me wrong, you seem like a nice person. If I’m being honest, you look like you’re my type. But I wouldn’t call us _soulmates_ , and I know you wouldn’t, either, if you were sober.” He holds out the pizza box. “Please just take this and pay.”

A piece of shiny plastic on the delivery guy’s chest pocket flashes as he rocks back and forth on his heels. Byeongkwan squints at the name tag. _Sehyoon._ “Wait, you’re the guy on the phone. You sent yourself?”

Sehyoon stops rocking and his face flushes. “Only a few of us are working tonight.”

Byeongkwan smirks. It looks like his professional exterior is cracking.

“And besides, Youngjo says I’m cute,” Sehyoon mumbles, looking away.

Byeongkwan’s heart drops. “Youngjo? Are you guys…? Are you two…?”

“What? No. He has a boyfriend, and so do—well, I don’t have a boyfriend, but I definitely want one.”

“Oh. Okay,” Byeongkwan says. “He’s right, you know; you’re cute. Really, _really_ cute. And I know a guy who would be a great boyfriend.”

Sehyoon sighs. “Does that guy happen to be drunk, flirty, and named Byeongkwan, by chance?”

“How’d you guess?”

“When you finally come to your senses, you won’t want to be my boyfriend. Trust me.”

Byeongkwan cocks his head to the side. “What makes you say that?”

“Look at me,” Sehyoon laughs bitterly. “I’m a broke college student working the last shift at a broke pizzeria that gets five or six orders on a good night. And I smell like marinara sauce. And I suck at coming up with date ideas people actually like. There are a million more reasons, but I don’t want to get too personal.”

“Lucky for you, I like marinara sauce, and I love unconventional dates,” Byeongkwan says. “And I don’t mind it if you get too personal.”

“Well, I do,” Sehyoon huffs. Just like that, he starts building up his walls again. “Please, sir, pay up so I can leave.”

Byeongkwan leans against the doorway and hands him a twenty-dollar bill. “Keep the change.”

“Thank you.”

Byeongkwan purses his lips as he stares at him for a few seconds. He looks like he’s five seconds away from dropping the pizza on the porch, sprinting back to his car, speeding back to his shoddy pizzeria, and ranting to his friend Youngjo about the weirdo who insisted they’re soulmates. He feels a lot of things right now—hungry, tired, in love, inebriated, and above all, _disappointed_. He’s finally meeting his soulmate, and his soulmate doesn’t even want to talk to him. He can’t say he’s surprised, but still. It hurts. A lot. He shifts more of his balance to the doorway and nearly loses his footing.

“Sir, are you going to…?”

“Goodbyes are so awkward,” Byeongkwan sighs, doing his best to keep himself upright. “Like, do I go in for a kiss or a hug or what?”

Sehyoon gives him a strained, tight-lipped smile. “Sir, please take your food.”

“What about a peck on the cheek? A handshake, maybe?”

Sehyoon’s corporate grin falters. “I’m sorry, but _no_. Now, is there anything else I can do for you before I go?”

Byeongkwan reluctantly takes the box from his hands and continues to study him. Not a single aspect of his body language gives off the impression that he enjoys anything about this, but—

No. He shouldn’t ask. There’s no way he’ll say yes. He’ll have to deal with the fact that his soulmate doesn’t want him. He’ll have to deal with the fact that they probably won’t ever see each other again, that this once-in-a-lifetime encounter is just that—once-in-a-lifetime. And yet…

“Stay.”

“Huh?”

“Stay here. With me. Just for a little while. We don’t have to go inside if you don’t want to, and I won’t try to make you drink anything. I promise. Can you please stay?”

For a while, Sehyoon just stands there, his mouth open and his shoulders tense. He knits his eyebrows as if he’s about to make another cold comment, but before he can say anything, Byeongkwan slips on the doormat and nearly drops the pizza box. Sehyoon takes a hold of his bicep to help him steady himself and looks down as he slides his grip down to his forearm, then his wrist, then his hand, until he slowly laces their fingers together.

“...Is that a yes?” Byeongkwan asks.

“I—Maybe.” Sehyoon lets go of him and stares at his own hand as if it’s a foreign object, shaking his head in disbelief. “My shift’s over anyways, so I guess… I guess I can stay.”

Byeongkwan’s eyes light up. “Really?” He leads him to a table on the porch and puts the pizza box down.

“Yes, really.” Sehyoon takes a seat on the bench pushed up against the house. “So… What do you want to talk about?”

“Tell me about yourself. You said you’re in college, right? What’s your major?”

“Well, uh, I’m majoring in marketing, but it’s mostly for my parents, you know? I don’t hate it, but I like my minor a lot more,” Sehyoon answers.

“What’s your minor?”

Sehyoon bites his lip. “You won’t take it seriously.”

“I will,” Byeongkwan says, flipping the pizza box open. “Trust me.”

“My college has a dual-enrollment program where we can take any minor at this nearby university, and when I checked it out, I saw a certain class I really liked. It’s something I’ve been doing my whole life, and I’m pretty good at it, so I decided to sign up. It’s… Um, it’s fine arts. I’m an artist. It’s difficult at times, but I love it, and—” 

“Hold on, you take fine arts?” Byeongkwan asks, scooting closer. “Have you had your work displayed anywhere in the past few months?”

A wide grin stretches across Sehyoon’s face. “Yeah! How’d you know?”

Byeongkwan pulls a slice of pizza from the pie. “There’s this dance studio right by my apartment, and to get there on time, I have to take a shortcut—I head into the library my friend Dongdong works at and go out the back door. On some days, I can stick around for a few minutes and look at the paintings hanging near the front desk, and there’s this beautiful piece of someone in a suit shop. And there’s a little plaque next to it, too. _Ego_ by local artist”—he points at his name tag with his free hand—“Kim Sehyoon.”

Sehyoon’s smile somehow becomes even more radiant. “Yeah, that’s me. I had my roommate Hoseok pose for it. I think you two might go to the same dance stud— _wait._ ” His eyes widen and his eyebrows shoot up. “You’re _that_ Byeongkwan. Holy shit.” His eyes become even wider. “Oh, sorry! I’m not supposed to curse in front of customers, I—”

Byeongkwan laughs and nearly drops his slice. “It’s fine. And what do you mean, ‘ _that_ Byeongkwan’? Do you know me?”

“Are you kidding? You’re Lia Kim’s favorite student. Everyone who’s ever heard of her studio knows who you are. You’re incredible,” Sehyoon gushes. “Granted, I’ve never actually seen you dance in person, but I’ve watched a recording, and it was a fantastic experience.”

“I’m flattered.” Byeongkwan then makes the brilliant decision to stuff as much of his pizza slice as possible into his mouth and gags. “Hot, hot, _hot!”_ He waves his hand around as he chokes everything down.

Sehyoon’s mouth falls open. “Shit, are you—”

Byeongkwan swallows everything and starts panting. “Ah _fuck_ , my tongue’s on fire,” he says, resting his back against the house and closing his eyes. “Can you kiss it better for me, Yoonie?” He cracks one eye open.

“You almost died and the first thing you do after not-dying is _flirt_.”

“I mean… Yeah,” Byeongkwan replies, opening his other eye. He attempts to wink, but he doesn’t know which eye to wink with, so he simply squeezes both of them shut for a second. 

“First of all, I barely know you,” Sehyoon says. “Scratch that—I _don’t_ know you. Second of all, it’s against company policy to make out with your customers.”

“Is it, really?”

“Yep. Article eight, section thirteen, line six of my pizzeria’s employee code— _Kiss a customer, and you can kiss your job goodbye. It doesn’t matter how pretty they are. Make out, and we’ll take you out.”_ He pauses. “I’m joking. They don’t really have a policy like that.”

“Obviously. So you think I’m pretty, huh?”

Sehyoon licks his lips again—a nervous yet endearing habit, seemingly—and averts his gaze. “Can we please talk about dancing again?”

“Sure. I can schedule a private performance for you, if you’d like.” Byeongkwan makes another attempt at winking; this time, his right eye twitches ever-so-slightly.

“Why are you so…?” Sehyoon vaguely gestures to him. “Do you do this every time you get drunk? Because I’m not really the kind of guy who inspires any sort of flirting.”

“Please,” Byeongkwan scoffs. “If you think people don’t wanna flirt with you, you’re stupid.”

“Hey, I’m—”

“Stupid. Moronic. Dense. Bonkers. Idiotic. Whatever you wanna call it. I bet there’s not a single brain cell in that beautifully vacant mind of yours. If I knocked on your head, it would make those empty hollow echo-y noises.” Byeongkwan taps on Sehyoon’s head with his pizza crust and ends up peppering his hair with breadcrumbs. “See? Hollow.”

Sehyoon frowns. “My head isn’t—”

“Ah! Shush.” Byeongkwan holds a finger to Sehyoon’s lips. “Alright, POV—you’re drunk, tired, lonely, and a little bit gay.” He thinks for a moment. “A lot bit gay. And lonely. Crap, I already said that. _Anyways_ , you’re hungry, so you order a pizza. And then the doorbell rings, and you open the door, and there, on your p—well, on your best friend’s porch—is the most attractive man you’ve ever seen. A solid five million out of ten. Extremely cute. Really pretty lips. Dazzling smile. Nice voice. Probably spends a lot of time at the gym. An insanely talented artist. Legitimately funny. Likes pizza. You wouldn’t mind risking it all for him. What does your sad, inebriated, painfully single, gay ass do?”

Sehyoon scratches the nape of his neck. His gaze flickers to the floor before he looks him in the eyes. “I wonder how the hell you wound up on my best friend’s porch.”

Byeongkwan’s jaw drops. “ _No._ You didn’t… Tell me you didn’t… You… _You pulled an Uno reverse card on me.”_

“You kinda set yourself up. Just to make myself clear, I don’t really mean it—I’m not allowed to flirt on the job,” Sehyoon says, shrugging. “You would be awful as a delivery guy, by the way. You’d violate article eight, section thirteen, line seven in an instant— _Express you want a date, and you’ll be the next one we terminate_.”

“Your fake employee code is weirdly hostile.”

“Thanks, I’m doing my best. It was either that or _we’ll ruin your fate,_ but that’s a little too mystical, I think.”

“Look, I was just trying to tell you you’re hot.” Byeongkwan thoughtfully nibbles on one end of his pizza crust as Sehyoon's tongue makes another guest appearance. “Seriously, though. Let me say what I think about you. For real.”

“Okay. So, what exactly is a drunk, flirty stranger’s first impression of me?”

“Wolf.” Byeongkwan folds his hands in his lap and looks up at the moths circling the porch lights.

“Wolf?”

Byeongkwan turns towards him, his expression completely sincere. “Lone wolf who’s actually just a big dumb puppy. Chases his own tail. Fetches sticks. Cuddles with people. Bites, sometimes. Wolf.”

“...I’m not a furry.”

“That’s not what I’m saying. It’s something about your face. The way you carry yourself. You remind me of a wolf. A hot lone wolf.”

“Are _you_ a furry?”

Byeongkwan chucks his pizza crust onto the perfectly-manicured lawn. “You’re not listening.” He puts both of his hands on his shoulders. “Bark.”

_“What.”_

“I wanna hear you bark, wolf boy. Humor me.”

“Arf, arf,” Sehyoon says, his voice as monotone as possible. “Woof, woof. Ruff. Growl.”

“Come on, where’s the passion? Surely, that’s not your best effort.”

“I can’t believe I’m—” Sehyoon puts his head in his hands. “Fine.” He lets out a few impressively accurate barks and looks at Byeongkwan. “Happy, now?”

“Very,” he grins, patting his head. “Good boy. Want a treat?” He tries to wink for a third time. Amazingly, he succeeds.

Sehyoon raises an eyebrow. “How intoxicated are you?”

“I’m drunk on a whole bottle of Ketel One. And you.”

“You’re insane.”

Byeongkwan ignores his sentiment and waves a slice of pizza in front of his face. “You keep on looking at the box. Take it. You deserve it.”

“Sorry, but that’s article eight, section thirteen, line three— _Take even the smallest bite, and your body will be found in a ditch the next night.”_

Byeongkwan blinks.

“...Too much?”

“Yeah, a little.”

“It’s actually part of the employee code, you know,” Sehyoon says. “Not the murder part, of course, but still. I can’t. We may be broke, but we have morals.”

“Take the treat, wolf boy.” Byeongkwan wedges the tip of the slice between his lips. “A slice of pizza won’t wreck your moral compass.”

Sehyoon sighs and takes the pizza. “Do I really look like a wolf?”

“Well, yeah. There’s no reason to lie about that.” Byeongkwan squints at him. “You kinda remind me of something else, too.”

“What, cats? Pigs? Cows? ‘Cause if you ask me to moo, I’m not—”

“No, no, not any of those,” Byeongkwan says, waving his hand dismissively. “You’re like… a real-life Webtoon character. With the stabby nose and nice hair and everything. You look like you crawled out of the pages of a manhwa. You’re beautiful. So, _so_ beautiful.” He reaches out and cups his face, provoking a deep breath. Though his perception is thoroughly muddled, he detects no trace of annoyance behind the act—instead, it resembles the kind of deep breath let out by one who wants a moment to last forever. “I’m surprised you aren’t surrounded by little sparkles.”

“Considering how much you’ve drunk, it’s a miracle you don’t see any.”

Byeongkwan pouts. “Learn to take a compliment, will you?”

“It’s a little difficult, given your current state.” 

“I wish I were sober. Sober Kwan wouldn’t be rejected like this,” Byeongkwan says, resting his head on his shoulder.

“Sober Kwan probably wouldn’t have asked me to stay here,” Sehyoon points out.

“You wouldn’t know. You’ve never met him.” Byeongkwan looks down. “Do you… Do you ever want to meet him?”

“It depends. Does he want to meet me?”

“Yes. Yes he does. He wants to go on a date with you. Maybe at an anime convention. Have you ever tried cosplay?”

“Uh, yeah. Around a month ago. My, uh, my roommate took some pictures.” Sehyoon takes his phone out of his pocket, swipes past a few dozen photos, and hesitates as he holds it out to him. “On second thought, maybe you shouldn’t see it, it’s… it’s pretty bad.”

“It can’t be _that_ bad.” Byeongkwan takes his phone and almost drops it as soon as he sees the photo. “That. _Um_. That is not bad. Not bad at all. That is good. Very good.”

On Sehyoon’s cracked screen is a photo of him standing on a couch in a rather messy apartment. However, the clutter is the second thing that catches Byeongkwan’s eye; the first is his outift—a schoolgirl uniform, complete with a navy blue pleated skirt and a sailor cap. He’s holding a pink sceptre high above his head, and from its blurriness, he seems to be spinning it. Though its metallic tip shines bright, it’s dim in comparison to his toothy megawatt grin.

_“Wow.”_

“I know it’s kinda stupid, but I’ve always been a huge fan of Cardcaptor Sakura, and the costume was on sale, so I went for it.”

“I’m glad you did. Now Sober Kwan _really_ wants to go on an anime convention date with you.” Byeongkwan hands his phone back and fishes out his own. “I have something you might wanna see.”

Sehyoon lets go of his pizza slice and lets it hang from his mouth as he wipes his grease-covered hands on his jeans and takes a hold of Byeongkwan’s phone. “Hmm…? _Oh.”_ The pizza makes a quiet slapping noise as it falls onto his lap. “Pretty.”

“My friends helped me with everything,” Byeongkwan says, leaning over to look at the photo. It’s nothing too complex—just a mirror selfie with a soft pink filter to hide his bedroom’s awful lighting. He smiles as he remembers Junhee adjusting the headband of his Sailor Moon costume at the very last minute. Sure enough, part of his elbow is present at the edge of the frame. “Dongdong tied the pigtails, Chan threw my trash out of view, and Jun paid for everything. I did the makeup.”

Sehyoon says nothing and keeps staring at his phone with wide eyes, ignoring his pizza slice, which will inevitably leave a stain.

“It wasn’t my idea, actually,” Byeongkwan continues. “It was a dare. I have to… Oh. Um.”

“You have to what?”

“I have to show… This has to be the first photo of myself that I show to the next person I fall for.”

“I guess you completed your dare, then.” Sehyoon gingerly picks up his pizza slice.

“Yeah, I guess I did.” Byeongkwan takes his phone back and shuts it off. “Look, I’ve made my fair share of weird comments about you tonight, so feel free to do the same. I’d feel bad if all the eccentricity were one-sided.”

“I don’t think I need to tell someone to bark to qualify as eccentric, but whatever you say.” Sehyoon rests his head on Byeongkwan’s. “Your voice sounds like lemonade.”

“What?”

“Your voice sounds like lemonade,” Sehyoon repeats. “Summer and acid and citrus. Sugary sourness and a dash of honey. Pitchers and plastic cups and refrigerators.”

“I’m more of a catcher than a pitcher, but sure," Byeongkwan softly laughs. “Are you sure _you’re_ not drunk, too?”

“I’m not drunk. I’m just saying what I think about you. And I think your voice sounds like lemonade.”

“There are tons of weird things that people have said about me over the years,” Byeongkwan says, “but that— _that_ is a first.”

“I mean, I’d be concerned if this wasn’t the first time you’ve heard that.”

“Fair. Do you like lemonade, wolf boy?”

“It makes my throat hurt,” Sehyoon answers, narrowing his eyes at the parade of ants marching dangerously close to the pizza box. “Guys with lemonade voices, however—I quite like those.”

Byeongkwan shuts the box. “I can make your throat hurt, if you want.”

“Article—what was it, eight? Article eight, section thirteen, line ten— _Show up with a hickey on your neck, and we’ll orchestrate a train wreck.”_

Byeongkwan sighs. “Do you have anything in your fake employee code that says you can’t fall in love with customers?”

Sehyoon opens the notes app of his phone and checks the most recent one. It’s blank. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Do you think you could ever fall in love with me?”

“With time? Yes. I wasn’t kidding when I said you’re my type. You’re endearing. Extremely strange, but endearing, nonetheless. I can definitely see myself falling in love with you, …huh. I don’t have a nickname for you. What about ‘Kirby boy’? Er, Kirboy? Just Kirby? I’m not good with nicknames.”

Byeongkwan perks up. “Kirby?”

“Yeah, like your temporary tattoo.” Sehyoon points at the Kirby tattoo on his forearm.

“Temporary?”

“You mean, it’s not…?”

“Nope,” Byeongkwan says, beaming. “This thing is staying on my skin forever. The last time I had vodka, I came up with the idea to get one of those custom tongue piercings—like, the little barbells you can get an image printed on. So, the next day, when I was sober, I headed to the tattoo and piercing parlor with Dongdong. He got a nose piercing, but I chickened out at the last minute and got a tattoo instead.”

“You tried to go through with a plan you made while you were drunk _when you were sober?”_ Sehyoon drops his pizza slice again. This time, however, it falls onto the floor, rendering it unsalvageable. “You really are insane.”

“Damn, it’s not like I decided to murder someone.” Byeongkwan rolls his eyes. “I know it’s permanent, but it’s cute. I like it.”

“I can’t believe you almost got a custom tongue piercing.”

“What, have you never seen one before?”

“I have, it’s just that…”

“It’s just that _what?”_

Sehyoon slowly opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue. Towards the center is what seems to be a bit of pizza crust, and Byeongkwan wonders why he’s showing him some chewed-up food until he inspects it further and realizes it’s not a bit of crust—it’s a tongue piercing. A custom tongue piercing. And the image he chose to display on his tongue is… No way. No one would get a piercing as ridiculous as that. _No way._

“Is that… Is that…? You have a bread tongue piercing,” Byeongkwan grins, burying his face in Sehyoon’s shoulder in an attempt to stifle his laughter. “There’s a picture of a loaf of bread on your tongue. Oh my God. Please tell me I’m hallucinating.”

“What can I say? I like bread. It’s not like your tattoo is any less weird.”

He fails to hold himself back any longer and bursts into a fit of laughter, far too entertained to be self-conscious about his smile. “And _you_ call _me_ insane. Were you sober when you came up with the idea?”

Sehyoon bites his lip. “A hundred percent.”

“ _God_. What the hell possessed you to get a bread tongue piercing?”

“I wanted something a little more personal than a plain stud, and so the piercer recommended I get a custom barbell. She told me to choose something I love, and I love bread, so that’s what’s on my tongue. That was my choice. Bread. Plus, I already have all of these.” Sehyoon tugs on his earlobes, and his eight ear piercings glint in the light.

“So you have a bread tongue piercing, and I have a Kirby tattoo. I think we qualify as soulmates.” Byeongkwan holds his breath as he waits for another line from his fake employee code.

“We might.”

“Wait, what?”

“We might qualify as soulmates.” Sehyoon shakes his head and laughs, and Byeongkwan immediately decides that it’s his favorite sound in the whole world.

He wouldn’t mind forgetting the rest of this night if it meant his breathy, low chuckle would be engraved in his mind forever.

“Did Mr. Article-Eight-Section-Thirteen-Line-Whatever-The-Fuck just agree that we might be soulmates?”

“In all honesty, I think I prefer ‘wolf boy’ over that mess of a title.”

“If you say so, wolf boy.” Byeongkwan wipes a splotch of marinara sauce from the corner of Sehyoon’s mouth. “You’ve got sauce all over your face. You wouldn’t happen to have any napkins, would you?”

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

“Then I’ll have to make do.” Byeongkwan leans in and licks another splotch from his cheeks.

Sehyoon shudders but makes no effort to push him away. “It feels like a snail.”

Byeongkwan looks him in the eyes. “I have something in mind that might feel better.”

“Really? What?”

“This.” Byeongkwan closes his eyes, leans in again, and presses a soft kiss on his lips. Only then does he notice the music blaring from inside—Low, the 2007 masterpiece by Flo Rida and T-Pain. If Sehyoon’s laughter is now his favorite sound, he decides, then Low is now his favorite song. And kissing him is his favorite feeling.

Sehyoon loosens up and runs his hands up and down his arms, brushing a thumb over his tattoo every time his fingers glide over his forearm.

Byeongkwan finally breaks away. “Was that better?”

“Yeah,” Sehyoon breathes out. “A lot better.”

“Sorry for making you break your fake employee code,” Byeongkwan says, his tone not the least bit apologetic.

“I don’t think there’s anything in my fake employee code against customers kissing you. I’ll have to consult my manager about making a few changes after tonight.”

“Are you gonna make it so that you have to tell your customers you’re not allowed to breathe around them?”

“No, I’m thinking of scrapping article eight. It’s not fair if you kiss me and they won’t let me—if I won’t let myself—kiss you back.”

“You can scrap it right now, if you want.” Byeongkwan rests his forehead against his.

Sehyoon turns his head. “I’ll wait for Sober Kwan, first.” His phone suddenly starts buzzing in his pocket. “Shit, that’s probably Youngjo. I should leave.”

“But…”

“But?”

“Do you really have to leave?”

Sehyoon frowns. “We both know I can’t stay here forever. Are you gonna crash here, or is one of your friends gonna drive you home?”

“This whole thing wasn’t exactly planned, so I don’t know. To be honest, I just wanna get out of here,” Byeongkwan says. “I know this is a lot to ask, but can you drive me home? My apartment isn’t too far.”

“I can, but you’re gonna have to wash your clothes two or three times to get the pizza smell out,” Sehyoon warns, getting up from the bench. “Should I go inside and tell your friends?”

“I don’t mind doing some extra laundry. And don’t try to find my friends, they’re in, a, um… a compromising position.” Byeongkwan picks up the pizza box and follows him to his car, completely unwary of the prospect of letting an almost-stranger drive him somewhere. “I’ll call them in the morning.”

As soon as he situates himself in the backseat and Sehyoon starts up the car, the latter’s phone starts buzzing again.

“Hi, Youngjo, I’m—”

“Where are you? You were supposed to get back twenty minutes ago,” Youngjo says, his voice flowing from the car’s speakers. “Don't tell me you got lost again.”

“Five bucks says he got lost again,” another guy on the other end pipes up.

“I didn’t get lost, I just… I took a small detour. Why is Hwanwoong with you?” Sehyoon asks.

“He’s driving me home. Don’t bother heading back to Hyungyu’s—I already locked everything up and filled in the hours for our shifts.”

“Yoonie’s lucky to have nice friends like you,” Byeongkwan says perhaps a bit too loudly.

“Uh, who’s that?”

“No one, it’s not—”

“You’re right, Youngjo. Yoonie’s really cute,” Byeongkwan continues. “You hear that? You’re cute, wolf boy.” He reaches around the driver’s seat and squishes his cheeks.

“What exactly are you doing right now?”

Sehyoon removes Byeongkwan’s hands from his face. “I’m about to drive a customer from his friend’s house to his apartment.”

“You’re _what?”_

“Sorry, but I don’t wanna stay out any longer. I’ll explain afterwards. Bye.”

“You can’t hang up on—”

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

“Wow, you really hung up on him.” Byeongkwan sits back and puts the pizza box on his lap for warmth.

“I’m not in the mood to get interrogated about everything that’s happened tonight,” Sehyoon sighs. “Now, can you tell me your address?”

“I live in that nearby complex—Moon Ridge. Apartment 5.”

Sehyoon softly laughs as he enters his address into his GPS. “Cute. Moon Ridge, like Sailor Moon. It suits you.” He pulls out of the driveway and starts along the dark, empty road.

Five minutes into the ride, Byeongkwan speaks up from the backseat. “You deserve a bigger tip.”

“You’ve already given me nine dollars, a fantastic conversation, and a kiss. What more do you have to offer?”

“I’d give you the whole world, but that might be too difficult.” Byeongkwan watches the neon signs of fast food restaurants and gas stations flash as they turn onto the highway. “Hmm... Will a five-star Yelp review suffice?”

Sehyoon looks at him through the rear-view mirror, the corners of his mouth curling up. “Go for it.”

Byeongkwan winces at the brightness of his phone and closes his eyes as he waits for it to adjust. After several attempts at typing the name into the search bar, he finds the pizzeria on Yelp. His thumbs glide over the screen as he drafts his review. Before he submits it, though, he decides to ask for some input. “Wanna help me revise?”

“It should be good as it is. I’ll look at it in the morning.”

Byeongkwan submits the review and lets his phone slip out of his hand. “Okay. Good night, wolf boy. I love you.”

“Good night, Byeongkwan.”

* * *

Sunlight dances across Byeongkwan’s eyelids, leaping, twirling, prancing, and sashaying back and forth until it trips and crashes, forcing them to flicker open. He’s splayed out on his apartment’s couch, and a quick glance at the window tells him it must be past nine o’clock. He groans as the throbbing in his head spreads to his neck and his fingertips and his chest—hold on, that’s his phone. He picks it up, uncovering a vodka stain, and groans again as he holds the buzzing menace right above his face. Unsurprisingly, it’s Donghun, and he waits for the call to go to voicemail before he unlocks it. The first thing he sees is a Yelp review— _his_ Yelp review.

_suuuuuper hhot pizzaa nd an even hottter deliveey guy, both of wihch i wsnted to blow hahhaha pls lobe me back wofl boyyyy waitnno i meamt lobe loce lpve kove lovw lobe love LOVE therr wego, i love u wolf bot <3 _

And then it all hits him—the party, the pizza, the porch. The entire bottle of Ketel One vodka. 

Fuck.

He told the pizza delivery guy that they’re soulmates.

_Fuck._

He haphazardly tosses his phone onto the carpeted floor and closes his eyes again. His pounding headache becomes worse and worse as he gradually remembers every part of their encounter, every weird compliment, every cheap attempt at flirting, every impulsive, regrettable thing he did last night. His thoughts morph from a hazy, painful blob into distinct, garish clusters of lemonade voices and tongue piercings and dorky cosplay. He rolls onto his side and lets his thoughts simmer like a greasy stew, far too tired to detach himself from the couch and look for painkillers.

He came across the most beautiful person he’s ever seen, and he called him “wolf boy.” If he had more energy, he’d cry. Even though no tears fall, his nose burns and his throat itches.

He takes a deep breath and catches a whiff of a smell he hadn’t noticed before.

A familiar smell.

There, on his carpeted floor, a few feet away from his couch, is a puddle of vomit. A puddle of vomit with two sole-shaped vomitless areas in the middle.

He threw up on the pizza delivery guy’s shoes.

It is at that moment that Byeongkwan decides the idea of having a soulmate is stupid. It must be—fate provided him with a real-life manhwa character with a lovely laugh and an endearing sense of humor. And what did he do? He kissed him and hurled on his Vans. And now he’ll never see him again.

The idea of having a soulmate is fake. The idea of having a soulmate is a hoax. He scarred his “soulmate” for life. No one will ever love him.

He attempts to grab one of the legs of the table in an effort to steady himself as he sits up and instead knocks over a cup of water. As if his morning couldn’t get any worse. _Great._ He pushes aside a few pieces of paper and the pizza box and rips off a sticky note stuck to the table as the water pours over the edge and drips onto the floor. After he sets the now-empty cup upright, he examines the sticky note. There’s a message, and it’s not in his handwriting.

_Hi! You’re probably going through a nasty hangover while you’re reading this, so I hope you feel better soon. This is a really bad idea on my part, but take this if you want it, Kirby. ↓_

_(XXX) XXX-XXXX ~ Sehyoon (Wolf Boy)_

Byeongkwan drops the note and it flutters onto his lap. “Oh.”

...Maybe the idea of having a soulmate isn’t that stupid, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> welp I hope you liked this utter disaster of a fic
> 
> wanna see an attempt at photorealism? [here it is](https://twitter.com/garbage_OwO/status/1300856191418077190), enjoy his tits 
> 
> also here's [something I drew](https://twitter.com/garbage_OwO/status/1309255866332467200) that's kinda related to the fic hehe 
> 
> [twitter: @garbage_OwO](https://twitter.com/garbage_OwO)


End file.
